


Maheno

by Newance



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Experimental, I’ll update the maturity rating as the fic goes in case it gets dramatic, M/M, roadrat - Freeform, uhhhhhh no major nsfw this is an abstract character study on them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:38:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newance/pseuds/Newance
Summary: Jamison and Mako want to go on a Vacation.





	1. Chapter 1

_Fsssssssss-h_

“Off the table.” 

Jamie looked up from the trap he was tinkering with on the table, Mako standing nearby him, having just extinguished a stray piece of hair that had gone burning far too long. Jamie stuck out his tongue at him while sliding the trap to the ground, and Mako placed a plate of pig shaped pancakes in front of him. Jamie felt his heart thud in his chest, he’d been graced with Mako’s piggy pancakes a hundred times before, but something about the care that went into each one still touched him. 

Mako sat down opposite, still in the little apron he cooked in. Their plates similar, but Jamie’s had about a quarter of what Mako’s did. 

“Roadie, honey. Sweetie. Joy of my life and all that I hold dear,” Jamie began, and Mako looked up, blank faced with raised eyebrows. 

“Can you pass the syrup?” He smiled, and Mako rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from turning up as he passed the syrup to him. 

“Thaaaaaank you,” he drawled, batting his pale eyelashes at Mako as he accepted. 

“Idiot,” Mako said affectionately, and Jamie giggled madly. The two had been living together for almost two years at that point, and had learned the song and dance of being with each other. Junkrat, almost always a caustic hazard, and Roadhog was… well… Roadhog. Massive, intimidating, as strong as a thousand men…

Gentle, kind, caring, and Bloody handsome. 

Junkrat would use a lot of words to describe Roadhog, but those were the ones he wanted everyone to know. Roadhog had started as a simple bodyguard, but now… after international (and national) crime sprees, adventures in the wildly irradiated outback, and more barfights than they could count, Roadhog was the most important person in Jamison Fawkes’ life. He wasn’t just Roadhog, he was _Mako_. Every morning started with Mako, every night ended with Mako. 

They’d become increasingly more domestic over the past year, Mako managing to mellow out Jamison at least a little bit. Still, he was an asshole. Impulsive, grating, and rowdy. He was a handful. Two handfuls. Two very big, Mako-sized handfuls. That was the realization on day one at the bar, and that morning so far from it.

They’d recently come back from another spree, one that Mako had planned as a surprise gift to Jamison after they’d gotten into one hell of a fight that wasn’t _actually_ Jamison’s fault for once. Mako had wanted to apologize properly, so they’d gone to America and made off with more than they knew what to do with. 

So now they sat eating pancakes, Jamison shoving folded pig-shapes, that were more syrup than pancake at this point, into his mouth using his prosthetic hand. He’d recently given it a paint job for the Australian summer, tweaking the aesthetics just a bit. Mako had to admit, he admired Jamison’s utter brilliance and resolve when it came to his technology and chemistry. Mako called him an idiot a lot, but in no way was Jamison stupid. 

“We should go to the beach this year,” Mako heard, being snapped out of his thoughts by Junkrat, who was pushing his now empty plate away and resting his clean-ish left hand over his slightly pooched belly. He always ate too fast. 

“Why?” Mako asked, and Jamison shrugged. 

“Can’t just say I wanna see you in your damn bathing suit, can I?” He asked, raising his bushy eyebrows as if to contest his companion. Mako felt himself flushing just a bit, gulping as he swallowed his mouthful of breakfast. Jamison was not secretive about his love for Mako. Whenever they were in public he was practically glued to his side, and even though most everyone was well aware of the two of them, Mako still had to un-stick Jamison every five seconds. 

“You can say that, but who's to say I’ll listen?” Mako teased, earning a disgruntled groan from Jamison. 

“Jamie, you see me naked practically everyday,” Mako said. 

“I know that,” Jamison huffed, scratching his abdomen and turning his gaze away, “I still love ya, though, ya big lug. Maybe I just want a little romantic getaway like the ones in ya books. White horses, walkin the beach in the moonlight, drinking out of coconuts. You know, the _cliche shit.”_

“You’re telling me rather than asking, I assume?” Mako asked, and Jamison faltered a grin, trying to wipe it away before Mako noticed, but he’d noticed. He’d noticed Jamie’s deep orange eyes flicker to his, slightly bloodshot from the recent late nights fixing his prosthetics, and the ever present, if minor, radiation they were exposed to. He’d noticed the glint of sharp canine, the stretch of cheek and raise of eyebrows before the corners of his lips fell, and he scrunched his nose. 

“What beach?” Mako sighed, and Jamison turned to him, gasping with happiness and surprise. Mako usually made him revise plans many times before he agreed to do anything, but in truth, the two were going a bit stir crazy after their heist took them seeing sights. The world’s biggest rocking chair hadn’t exactly been the most thrilling, but it was still something different. 

They’d joke about retirement, traveling like tourists, settling down somewhere far and fertile, farming until arthritis and old age overtook their knees and hands and hearts. Jamie would set aside his traps, kiss Mako’s stubbly chin, and the two would decompress for the night. Chatting aimlessly about a future even they weren’t certain of. They did this often, but never really realized they did. Jamie did most of the talking. 

Mako wanted to go on vacation with Jamison. The idea of them doing what Jamie had suggested struck something deep within Mako. A longing for something out of an old romance book, despite the very obvious differences. Jamison was no beautiful woman with long blonde hair, but he was beautiful to Mako. And blonde. Well, what hair wasn’t burnt to a crisp was blonde. 

Jamison threw out his ideas for beaches. Silver beach, Miami, Laguna, Myrtle. places in France, Spain, Greece. Seychelles had beautiful diving, Hawaii was a paradise. Belies, Madagascar, California, Cozumel. Mako hummed and huffed at the names. They’d seen a dozen of the places Jamie suggested, and were wanted in most of them. 

“We can talk about it later,” Mako said, “it’s early. What were you up all night doing, anyway?” 

To Mako’s slight surprise, Jamie reached under the table, and produced his prosthetic leg after a minute of fidgeting. He held it up, pointing at a few spots and explaining what he’d done. Waterproofing the joints, adding an extra spring to ease his (often) heavy landings, and he halted for a second before pointing at the most obvious change. 

“Ya know, it’s the little things,” he said as he tapped the juvenile shark jaw he’d attached to the joint near the knee. “Makes it look funny, like me leg got bitten off by a shark.” 

“Hmmm,” Mako said, leaning forward on the table, taking great joy in watching Jamie flush and stutter as he tried to cover up the very obvious nods to his partner. Jamie had swiped a shark tooth necklace from some stall in America, and he’d been wearing it nonstop since.

Truth be told, as embarrassing as it was, Mako felt truly loved and appreciated by these things. Jamie wasn’t ashamed of loving him, he wanted the whole world to know Mako and Jamie were partners, and not just in crime. He’d wear him on his clothes, on his skin, hell if Jamison could get the words “ _I love Mako_ ” carved into his heart he’d wear it there too. 

Jamie figured himself the luckiest guy in the world. Mako was big, and beautiful, and could take one hell of a wallop before even making a peep. But underneath all that was a man who loved farming, and cooking, and he listened to Jamie. Sure, the start had been rough, even after they were dating Jamie would say the wrong things, do the wrong things, and never shut up long enough to realize it. 

Now he was seemingly always distracted, building new traps, trying new chemical reactions. The trap on the floor looked different from anything Mako had ever seen Jamie make, and he knew for a fact it was built in the few hours between Jamie clambering over a sleeping Mako before sunrise and the time the pancakes were finished. 

Mako decided to ask about it, and Jamie lit up again. He bent over to scoop it up, all but dropping his fake leg on the floor in favor of his latest invention. 

“It’s for you!” Jamie said excitedly, holding the large, but slender trap in his hand. “For the end of yer hook! Added a spring lock so things can’t get out of it. Kinda like my normal traps, but easier to toss. I’ve still gotta work out a few kinks but-“ 

Mako reached across the table, and Jamison slowed his speech to hand it over, feeling a drop of sweat bead down his neck. He wasn’t nervous, but he wanted Mako to like it regardless. 

Mako rolled the metal contraption over in his huge hands, admiring the tiny details and craftsmanship of something Jamison had pieced together out of scraps. It was just like his hook, a near identical copy, but it had a bit more weight. There was a tiny, serrated, razor sharp piece of metal attached to the base, like a crab claw. It was activated by pressing a button on the side. It popped out when he pressed it. 

“See- don’t put your finger in there, Mate. It’ll snap it clean off- but see how this works is once you pop the claw out, there’s a little pressure plate along the inside of the hook. You snag something, or someone, it’ll lock down, keep em in place!” Jamison explained with a grin. He took a piece of scrap metal, holding out his hand and curling his fingers impatiently. Mako carefully handed it over, and Jamison put the metal piece in between the claw and the hook. He was holding it away from his face, and he tapped the pressure place. The claw snapped shut, shearing the thin metal strip in half. 

Jamison looked back at Mako to see him smiling one of the biggest smiles he’d ever seen. Jamie couldn’t help but smile too, proud of his handiwork and the example he showed. 

“It’s great, Jamie. Thank you,” Mako said, and Jamison blushed. 

“Aw, thank you, mate. You really like it? Still got a good day or two a tinkerin’, but maybe this’ll be useful sometime.” 

“Very useful. The gesture is… very sweet, Jamie. I love it.” Mako winked at Jamison, knowing that complimenting his experiments was a surefire way to get him riled up and squirming with pride. The wink was it thought, and Jamie put the hook down, nearly launching around the table to plant a kiss on Mako. 

He wobbled, seemingly forgetting he’d taken his leg off not five minutes prior, and Mako managed to catch him against his body. His hand secured itself on Jamison’s back, holding him close, and Jamie held both of Mako’s cheeks in his hands as he peppered his face with kisses. 

“Ya really like it that much, Mako?” He asked, and Mako nodded, unable to get a word out in the flurry of pecks. The big man started to gawf after a few minutes, Junkrat’s arms tight around his neck and face, nonstop affection being poured onto him. 

“Ja-J- _Jamie_!” Mako laughed, pinching the back of his short underwear and yanking him backwards. Jamie was stunned for a moment, looking up and blinking away the surprise. Mako was still supporting him, not wanting Jamie to topple without his prosthetic secured. The chances of that were slim, but still. A precaution worth taking. 

“What?” He whined, and Mako shook his head. 

“It’s only breakfast, don’t wear yourself out now.” He advised, and Jamie nodded, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, like you can't handle me?” He snapped, crossing his arms and looking away in a huff. and Mako put his hand under Junkrat’s chin, squeezing his cheeks and making him turn back. 

“ _You_ can’t handle _me_ , Jamie,” he clarified. Jamison’s jaw fell open for a split second, and he pushed his brows down so they were nearly covering his eyes. 

“I’m right,” Mako said, and Jamison just sniffed, reaching his left hand back and placing it on top of Mako’s. Jamison knew he was right, but damn he didn’t want to admit it. He squeezed one of Mako’s massive fingers in his hand, leaning back a little bit into the supportive palm, and stared at Mako with annoyed affection. 

“Sooooooooo… we figure out where we want to go later?” Jamie asked, changing the subject, and Mako chuckled, pulling Jamison back to his side with his hand. 

“Yes, yes we do.” 

Things settled back down slowly. They always settled down slowly. Coiling Jamie up like a spring too quickly never worked, he would burst sooner or later. The aftermath of those microcosmic explosions were messy, and uncomfortable. 

Jamie helped Mako scrub the built up dishes and grimy coffee cups from his workbench. He tittered and chattered enough for the both of them, stringing meaningless sentences together and expecting no response. It was like radio static for Mako, comforting in a strange way. The high pitched giggles that punctuated the neverending mumble kept him aware that he was with another person. Of course, he knew by now that Jamison was always there, but it was an indicator of closeness he enjoyed having. 

When a hush fell for too long, it was a signal he’d missed a cue for conversation, but none came that day. 

The two didn’t have much planned. They cleaned the Chopper and Jamison cleared his workbench. They tried to keep the place as clean as possible, but in Oz it wasn’t easy. The entire world seemed covered in a fine grit, it stung the eyes and coated the teeth if you weren’t used to it. Like powdered pain for newcomers. Goggles and masks were normal. Essential almost. 

Jamie was never bothered by it, he was too used to it. He was covered in ash, and oil, and sticky adhesives mixed with sweat constantly. He kept himself clean, but again, it was difficult. 

Before bed they tried to discuss more of their plan, lying next to each other, half outside the blankets due to heat. What beaches hadn’t they seen? How could they get there easily? It was a vacation, not a heist, and the two wanted to be tourists for once. No hold ups, no police chases, no bail bonds. Just… sand, and clear water, and time together in a different way. 

Jamie wanted that closeness. That intimacy of a couple’s retreat, plucked from pages and poems he’d committed to memory of lovers and vows of everlasting light. Jamison wanted Mako to see it the same way, hoping somewhere inside him that the big man’s soft heart would register the gesture. The bathing suit joke had been a way to cover his tracks; sometimes being too forward with Mako had bad results. 

There were buttons, push pins, switches and tripwires that would cause tiny, but immensely powerful, breakdowns in the gears of their relationship. They’d adapted to avoid them, and did very well on most days. They loved each other, so they had to be aware of how the other operated. 

Jamison rolled over so he was facing Mako, who had his eyes closed already despite not being asleep. He rested his hand on Mako’s belly, and Mako covered it with his own. 

“G’night, Mako,” he yawned, and he got a drowsy wish back before they both faded into a foggy dreamland. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s hot.

A week after, they’d devised a shoddy, but ultimately thought through plan, and continued on with their preparations. Jamie had forged their documents, again. Taking great, meticulous care with his unbelievably steady hands. Mako was always impressed by how still Jamie was when he worked. A firecracker ready to detonate at any other time, now completely stone-faced as some classical music piece he’d forgotten the name to floated in the air. Quick fingertips, the sound of metal scraping on the bench, on metal, on skin. 

Jamison had been spending nights in the other barn, nearly glued to his newly stolen welding tools and creating… something. 

In truth, Jamie was simply making a box. Huge, metal. Waterproofed by insulation rubber. He settled a proper toolkit, heaps of scrap electronics, and finally his freshly redesigned prosthetics. He had so many to choose from, but the way they were going it would be too obvious with the bright orange and shark motifs. Alongside his tools in the rubber interior, he tucked one of Mako’s massive hooks and chains. He closed the box, setting the high tech locks, and patting the top. It wasn’t a secret, just a precaution. This wasn’t a heist, but he wanted spare parts, for both inventing and his actual body, in case he got bored. 

Jamie had begun sporting a simpler model of prosthetic, still fully automated, but with a foot instead of his peg leg. Deep teal, with tiny painted flowers, it looked strikingly feminine against the otherwise tattered man. he’d built them years ago, one of the first sets to use a modified nervous system prototype he’d stolen from some rich asshole who tried to patent it for millions of dollars. Jamison had stolen the only prototype, learned it inside and out, then anonymously dropped it in the hands of someone else who didn’t want people to pay hundreds of thousands for working limbs once he’d perfected his own copy. 

“Been a while since I’ve seen those,” Mako nodded at dinner, and Jamie flushed a bit. 

“Figured it would help,” he shrugged, “lookin’ normal. Takes a brave man to wear a peg leg.” 

The peg leg worked fine in Oz, and the surrounding areas of Junkertown. The red earth was hard packed, and dry. It didn’t cave under his weight like sand or silty soil. The foot shape on his current leg could withstand the loose powder of those terrains, and wasn’t as obviously him. 

Lots of people had missing limbs, but the ones from Junkertown, and _Jamison’s_ in specific, were incredibly unique. His prosthetics were perfectly tuned to his body, there were no minor lags or shocks, and constantly customized for better movement, and more natural abilities. The extra springs to cushion his jumps, waterproofing so he could wash and wear them more easily, new straps and padding and connectors. Mako saw Jamie working on his prosthetics more often than his piles of prototypes. 

“You’re not used to feet, though,” Mako chuckled, he’d seen Jamie slip and tumble three times since he’d come back in wearing them. Jamie laughed too, high and pitchy. 

“‘M really not,” he nodded, “legs like this are bulky!” 

“Bulky? Jamison it’s because you weigh as much as soggy towel.” Mako teased, and Jamie howled in amusement. The complete size difference between them was something they both liked to poke fun at. Jamison had already proved that he could hold his own _and_ defend Mako more than once, springing like a rabid American possum onto those who made the unfortunate decision to mock Mako. It was… endearing, in a way, when Mako would have to grab Jamie out if the air, nearly slipping through his fingers, just because someone that wasn’t him called him _fat_. 

Fat meant little to Mako. It wasn’t even an insult. He’d always been large, and if he didn’t like the way he looked he would have changed a long time ago. Mako had changed a lot of things about himself. Yet Jamison, despite knowing this, was so quick to leap into literal action at any mention of it. 

Neither were shy, or very secretive. Sometimes they would surprise each other, but living the way they did didn’t allow for the delicate privacy most couples and families had. Still… they kind of liked it, it a weird, terrible way. 

The outskirts of Junkertown were home to them, as dry and dangerous as it all was. They’d seen the world six times over at least, but there really was no place like home. 

Their bed, their kitchen, their weird trophies and Knick knacks. 

Jamie might of waxed poetic, sent out a sonnet on how Home was where the heart lied, this home was with Mako, but that didn’t come. He would coo and faun and dote for hours when the time was right, but it wasn’t that moment just yet. 

“D’ya think it’ll work?” Jamison asked, curled up small next to Mako in their bed. Mako wasn’t asleep yet, Jamison could tell by the lack of mild snores. 

“The plan?” He asked back. 

“Yeah.” 

“It’ll work.” 

“I trust you,” Jamie said, and he scooted his back closer to Mako’s side. The night was hot, and sticky, but neither of them cared. Proximity was welcome, and Mako adjusted himself, tweaking the fan a little so it was facing directly on them. 

Their sleep was restless but still came, and in the morning Jamison decided against maneuvering his way out of bed, and dozed in late alongside Mako. The hot sun would eventually rouse them both, filling the air with the sickly sweet combination of sweat, and red clay dust. Even with the fan. 

Sluggish, it was blistering that day, and their morning went slow. No fancy breakfast, no big plans, the two of them waited out the mid-morning heat, which would only get more intense as the afternoon encroached. 

“Do you want cherry or Orange?” Jamie asked, peering into their freezer as the noon sun roasted Junkertown. 

“No blue?” 

“You ate the last one yesterday,” Jamison said. 

“Shit… cherry.” Mako reached up and caught the popsicle as it arched perfectly through the air. The two peeled the plastic off, and Jamie had his popsicle shoved in a bulging cheek, not even aware of the freezing temperature on his teeth. He went and sat on the stool near his workbench, tiny fan blowing his frazzled blonde hair forward in equally tiny waves. Mako watched him stare into space, the little curl over his forehead bouncing ever so slightly as he sat on the stool. Jamie had small streamers of colored plastic tied to his fan, and they crackled ambiently behind him along with the old record he was playing. 

Some old blues rock band from the early 2010’s, it was completely vintage now. How he’d found them, and why he kept them, was a mystery to Mako. He didn’t know if they’d been carefully selected, or simply grab bagged in sweep heists of collector homes, but Jamison often listened to this band. It was recognizable, the meaty bass and thick, soulful voice of the lead singer. He glanced at the blue and pink vinyl cover, propped up over the old player Jamison had fixed up. 

_Turn Blue_. 

“Hey, mate,” Jamie beckoned from the stool, spitting his popsicle stick into his hand. Mako snapped himself back to reality. 

“Yeah?” 

“What’s the best time to go to the dentist?” 

Mako stared at him, blinking slowly. 

“I… I don’t know.” 

“Tooth hurty,” He said, lip curling up, offering a glinting look at the sharp, gold canine. 

Mako groaned when the joke finally sank into him, Jamison reeling off his chair in laughter, and he looked at his own stick for half the joke. 

“What did Mr. and Mrs. Hamburger name their daughter?” 

“I don’t know,” Jamison said, clearly knowing. 

“Patty,” Mako said, bringing his hand up to lick his finger where the juice of the popsicle had melted. Jamie giggled, rocking on the stool, and twisting back around so he could lean on his workbench. He sighed, crossing his arms and leaning heavy on them. Eyes closed, he tilted his head toward the fan, letting the mild breeze cool the sweat beading on his skin until he felt clammy. But in a good way, like the way he felt after hiking through the fog, or when moisture hung in the air during the first few cracks of thunder. 

Thunderstorms were rare in Oz, but if there wasn't a time Jamison didn’t go out and sit under the flowing water, usually fresh and cleansing from the coastal region, there was something wrong. Even in the dead of night, Mako would wake up to a foot in his gut, and the sound of the barn door sliding open to the storms. Jamison loved them. 

He’d told Mako before. It was elemental chaos in an intricate, and strangely destructive way, but only to things man had made. Sometimes trees got swept away or struck, but it wasn’t permanent like houses being washed into the sea during hurricanes. Trees grew back, flowers bloomed, insects decomposed fallen foliage. Nature washed her earth clean, and Jamison wasn’t afraid to admit that humans were simply imperfections of the soil. 

Mako had once thought that Jamison was oblivious, and completely insane, which he was, but he was also aware. Jamison was aware of how bad the earth was, how humans had drained it of resources in an artificial, fake-beauty-fueled scarcity, how people starved and lived in squalor and died in the streets. 

_“Everywhere is like Junkertown.”_ he’d said, _“just don’t look like it.”_

But not everyone was a junker. Not everyone was willing to be graveyard scrap in the middle of bullshit country. They’d work themselves to death like mules in different ways, in office buildings, in retail stores, in wars. Junkers lived and died as they pleased, and as they failed. 

In truth, Mako was glad, now, that Jamison had solicited him in that bar. Sleazy like a weasel with about as much body mass, but their skills complemented each other. 

Mako could work the land, and Jamison could work what came out of it. Metal and electronics were his territory. Jamison, admittedly, made their domestic life easier with his gadgets. The freezer stayed colder, the fans never stopped in the middle of the night, they had homemade solar rigs to run their stolen arcade machines. 

“I love you, Mate,” Mako heard, and he lifted his head to see Jamison, still frozen facing the fan. 

“Love you, too,” he returned. 

The heat of the day kept them in a rare eclipse of silence. Too dry to bother discussion. Too hot to move. They were stuck in limbo, lightly fragranced by cheap popsicle juice with cheaper jokes on the sticks. 

Mako continued to get lost in his trailing thoughts, much slower than Jamison’s rapid fire ideas. Thinking about how it had been such a long time, but such a short time, since they’d come together. The past few weeks of their crime spree, and how many times they’d nearly been caught but got away. 

But now they were home. Home together, in the red sea of heat, hoping for a rainstorm to cool the irritated, irradiated air around them. 

Jamie had been thinking similarly, metal hand brushing over a screw, feeling the ridges nearly scrape the blue surface. Mako had let him do what he pleased, he’d kept him from dying more times than he could remember. He fed him, gave him consistent, quality shelter, and didn’t ask too many questions about the chemical experiments Jamie did. After finding Mako, Jamie felt at home. 

In the distance, Mako heard a deep crack of thunder. Closer than planned. He saw Jamie’s slouched shoulders perk up, head rotating from side to side, until he, himself, heard a second crack. A wide, crooked smile crossed his mouth, and he was scrambling off the stool and across the barn in a mess of loose clothes and spare parts. 

“C’mon, Roadie,” He squeaked. _Roadie_. That was a nickname he didn’t much use in private. Not anymore, at least. Mako hefted himself up, and came over to where Jamison was pressing his face against the glass of the barn door. Black clouds were rolling over the horizon. Jamison reached back, grabbing Mako’s hand before flinging open the door. The two walked out as the wind swept static over their skin, and the first water droplets fell like fat teardrops from the sky. 

“I wonder if she cries different for us,” Jamie sighed up to the sky. Mako wondered exactly what he was talking about, but the mix of warm air and cool water, backed by that old record, made him not really care. He closed his eyes, tilting his head to the sky and inhaling the scent of the storm. The music wafted from the open door, and he faintly heard Jamie mumbling along to the clouds. 

_“I really don’t think you know… there could be Hell below…”_

It felt real. It felt realer than most things these days. Mako curled his big hand a little tighter around Jamison’s, and let whatever it was in the sky wash him clean. 

It was true… Everywhere was like Junkertown, but not everywhere was _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Tooth hurty” is unironically my favorite joke of all time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi chapter fic idk why ao3 says 1/1 so yea hold on to your shorts
> 
> Also shoutout to my beta reader Bry- Cauliflower on tumblr!! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as Silenthill and Hawkevarric!!


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